


This One's Just Right

by terroringlasses



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, One Shot, There is no plot, possibly too schmoopy? i regret nothing, there were so many beds, worst fanfic prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terroringlasses/pseuds/terroringlasses
Summary: “Why are there so many kinds?” Bucky asked. “What exactly is the difference?”“I don’t know,” Sam responded, “A lot of people think all these mattress stores are really money-laundering fronts or something.”This is absolutely in response to @onthedriftinthetardis 's Worst Fanfic Prompts post on tumblr.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	This One's Just Right

Captain America woke up on the right side of the bed. He felt good; lucky, just right. It was going to be a good day. Sam yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen of the apartment he was currently sharing with one Bucky Barnes, who was sitting at the counter in slouchy track pants and a muscle tank. Sam was just thankful he was wearing a shirt. He’d been struggling with that lately, and didn’t want to make his roommate feel...uncomfortable? Unwelcome?

He shook his head at himself. Sam had made a career out of being self-aware, and he was fooling no one.

He reached for the coffee pot as Bucky fiddled with his own mug. Bucky was experimenting, searching for the right cream-to-sugar ratio. “Morning. What’s on the agenda today?”

Bucky mumbled something, so low that his voice was obscured by the crinkle of the sugar packet.

“Say again?” Sam inhaled the vapor from his mug.

“Gonna go shopping for a mattress,” he muttered, almost like he was ashamed of it or something.

Sam’s hand stilled. He peered at Bucky over the rim of the mug. Bucky...didn’t want things. He’d been pretty content with figuring out his food and beverage preferences, but for the most part, he held onto a sense of thrift, as a holdover from the Depression, or decades of having his autonomous bodily needs denied, or five years of not having any autonomous bodily needs; Sam wasn’t sure. A mattress was a big deal. Sam considered how he should respond to this. He thought about the lumpy thing Bucky’d been sleeping on in the second bedroom — no, Bucky’s room, he supposed. He absolutely did not think about Bucky sleeping on a mattress. In a bed. No, he did not think about it. “Oh yeah? Where did you want to go?”

Bucky was quiet for a few moments. “There’s that store downtown. The one with the sheep in the logo?” He looked at Sam. “You’re not going to question why I want a new mattress?”

“Nah, man, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s good enough for me.”

He let Bucky decide whether he wanted to share more, and it turned out, he did. “It just doesn’t feel right. Too much in some parts, too little in others. I don’t know.” His eyes cast down.

“No, I get it, Goldilocks.”

Bucky snorted, but shrugged. “You, uh, you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, surprised at the invitation, “Yeah, I would.” Where else would he rather be?

***

There were so many mattresses. So many. Rows and rows of off-white rectangles. Bucky tensed a bit, gripping his thigh, where Sam suspected he might have a knife stashed. A comfort knife. They were approached almost immediately by a salesperson, bland of face and broad of shoulder and smile. “Hi there! Can I help you with anything today?”

“I’m looking for a mattress,” Bucky said, and Sam must have grown accustomed to the low growl of Bucky’s voice ( _nevermind the little hum in his heart when he heard it_ ) because the guy’s smile froze.

“Sure thing!” There was a wobble in his voice. “I can show you some models — ”

“How about —” Sam interjected, “— we look around at some of the floor models and we’ll let you know which ones we’re interested in?” His ears burned as he felt Bucky’s side-eye, and regretted using the second-person plural.

“That sounds great,” the salesperson agreed, gratitude pouring off of him in sweat droplets. Sam nearly snorted; he’d checked out Bucky’s outfit today, and he looked positively normal. Black leather motorcycle jacket, black jeans, black boots. Sam paused for a moment to consider that “normal” people might consider this look threatening. To Sam, it was normal. Appealing, even. The man scurried off, and Sam and Bucky turned to the sales floor.

Sam worried momentarily; there were...a lot of options here. Bucky liked to work on one project at a time; Sam didn’t want him to be overwhelmed. He kept his voice moderated, calm. “Where do you want to start?”

Bucky was pensive. “Cost?”

“How much do you want to pay?”

“About...does a thousand sound all right?” He looked slightly panicked, like it was a test.

Sam nodded appreciatively. “For that much, you’ll get a decent mattress. Let’s look around.” 

Bucky muttered, “For that much, it better be more than decent.”

They walked in the direction of the displays, and Sam laughed internally. Two grown-ass men, who’d battled aliens and supervillains and each other, and they were a little rattled by something as domestic as buying a mattress. 

They passed two models that were over-budget. Every now and then, Bucky would pause at a sample of a spring or foam, and squeeze it experimentally. The Winter Soldier could be still, still as stone if he wanted, but Bucky enjoyed feeling things, testing them out himself. Sam watched his fingers as they pressed, leaving light indentations on the memory foam. He swallowed, and averted his eyes.

“You want to try that one?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“You just —” he gestured to the mattress display. “You just lie on it, man.” Bucky looked at him, skeptically. “Here.” He perched on the mattress, and then decisively swung his legs up, lying back. He wiggled into it. For memory foam, it felt frozen, not forgiving at all. He wasn’t comfy. But then, it wasn’t his mattress. He looked up at Bucky, and for a moment, thought he detected wide eyes. A blink later, and they were blank as they looked back at him. “See? Just lie down.”

Bucky’s jaw firmed up. He mirrored Sam’s movements on the other side of the bed. Sam sprang off of his own side. He watched as Bucky lay there, again eerily still. “Is that how you sleep?” he asked, dubious. Bucky rolled his eyes at him. Mattress shopping could be weird; it made him feel self-conscious, when he was never self-conscious in bed. He wondered if Bucky was self-conscious in bed, and tried to shake that sudden question. “Thoughts?”

“It’s too...too hard.” And with that, he was on his feet again, and Sam was left feeling as though a gust of wind had just blasted past him. 

He followed until Bucky stopped at another model. It was a pillow top, overstuffed and fluffy, but in the right price range. Bucky said nothing for several moments. He glanced at Sam, who just shrugged and nodded at the mattress.

He watched as Bucky leaned back on the mattress, sinking into it. Nothing took Bucky by surprise, but for a moment, Sam stifled a smile as he watched his friend flail while the mattress absorbed him. How long had it been since Steve had left, since they’d come back from the Soul Stone? in that time, he’d watched Bucky determine his own path, by trial and error, and hell, he’d had to remake his own life, too. Together, the two of them had forged a kind of partnership. A friendship, even. Yeah, a friendship. It was good to see Bucky like this.

Trying things out. Even things like struggling with a mattress. Palms pressed against the pillowtop, thighs tensed as he tried to regain composure...Sam snapped to attention, and his eyes met Bucky’s. The man in question looked back at him with a question in his eyes, and Sam coughed. “Thoughts?”

Bucky paused before responding. “Too soft.” His voice was gruff, probably from exerting himself on the mattress. He was upright again in a moment, and once more, they moved on.

“Why are there so many kinds?” Bucky asked. “What exactly is the difference?”

“I don’t know,” Sam responded, “A lot of people think all these mattress stores are really money-laundering fronts or something.”

Bucky paused. “Really?” Sam nodded. “Isn’t that the kind of thing we should be..” He trailed off, and it was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You want to borrow the shield to fight organized mattress crime, you let me know.” Would Steve have cared? Sam didn’t know, and the man wasn’t here to tell him. As for him, it exhausted him to think about it. He wasn’t aware of showing it physically, but he must have. He felt Bucky’s palm on his shoulder then, a light rest, just barely more than a tap, but it was reassuring. Enough so that when Bucky removed his hand, Sam felt deprived in its absence.

But those hands were busy. A moment later, Bucky had his fingers in another sample. The foam yielded beneath his fingers, the compressions deeper than the previous one. He went to the mattress and laid down without Sam’s prompting. It didn’t swallow him up, but neither did it press back like a log. Bucky didn’t say anything for the longest time. Sam started shifting on his feet. “Barnes?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, with a snap. “I can’t tell.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose at that. “Does it feel good?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered sullenly. “You try it.”

Sam was surprised at that. But, throwing his hands up, he went to the right side of the bed and arranged himself, expecting Bucky to get up like he himself had done earlier. “Feels fine,” he began once his back was flat. But then Sam turned his head, and found himself staring into light blue eyes. He had no more words, for his breath caught in his throat. 

Bucky’s eyes softened. “You know, yeah, I think this is good. Feels right.” He curled into a more natural sleeping position, right arm cradling his head for support. Sam exhaled in a rush. He’d never seen Bucky this relaxed. He wondered if this is what he looked like while sleeping. Not quite sleeping. Getting ready for bed. Waiting, while Sam finished his own nighttime routine... “What do you think?”

“I think…” He could not tell him what he’d been thinking. Could never tell him. But Bucky’s left hand reached out, grasped his own. Their fingers twined together. Bucky brushed his thumb over the pad of Sam’s palm, examining. Sam watched a soft, slow smile grow on his friend’s face. “Yeah, I think this is just right.”

“Is this...is this all right?

Sam gulped. “More than all right.”

“Is — is the bed too big?” Sam heard the questions there. _Is this too much? Am I in this on my own? Will you share this bed with me?_

“Just big enough.” He forced himself to be brave, to say the following words. “What do you say, instead of you replacing your mattress, I replace mine?” _Will you share my life with me?_

That soft smile blossomed into a full-blown grin. “What do you say we buy it together?”


End file.
